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The Lonely Road - Esra Oakheart
This is a contribution by Matthew Bacon. For further information on contributions please read The Guide to Contributing. The Road to Vol Thorim via Ravensden was never a kind one, a mixture of highland hills, sparse copses and muddy cart trails which meandered steadily along the northern borders of Cannalt through what the locals called the Northern Woods. To the North the Krandag Peaks spread as far as the eye could see, the gateway to the lands of the Dwarves of Uzul Danar and the city of Vol Thorim. To the south the hustle and bustle of the populated towns and villages that made up what was known as the republic. '' ''Esra spat at the thought, he bawked at the prospect of calling Cannault a republic, his sullen features grew ever tired as he remembered the faces of the brave men and women who died in countless battles in the name of that thing that sat on the throne. It didn’t matter anymore, his days of contributing to society were done and so too any link to that place. As the faces of warriors past dissipated, one lingered, it felt different, it was a face buried deep in the subconscious recesses of a life lived long ago. Just as Esra pondered this image, he felt a stern nudge on the side of his chain mail. He turned his head slowly under his damp cowl to see the stern eyes of a dwarf looking directly at his own. '' ''“You know this journey would go a lot quicker laddy if you didn’t keep to yourself, I know the Dûrgrimst aren’t famed for their way with understanding you humans, but I’ve met enough of you Soldier types to know they at least talk common.” The dwarf huffed and turned his gaze back to manning the two horses that pushed the cart forward along the battered path ahead. A few moments passed between the two travel companions. “Then you have never met a real soldier my friend, no man,” Esra paused a moment and said, “or Dwarf, would say a word after being made to see and do the things it takes to win a war.” He was met by a low grumble that sounded like a laugh trailing off into the raspy wind. “well said, yet it ain’t the case for Dwarves, no… we understand what it takes to win a war, you see you humans lack honour, protecting the halls of our ancestors guides our hammers, the only things you care for are your damn flimsy castles.” The Dwarf noticed the hooded mans, gauntlets grip tighten in response to his comment. “You know nothing of the honour that lies in my heart Dwarf!” snapped Esra at the surprised Dwarf. For a moment the Dwarf sensed a power not to be crossed and readjusted himself in his wooden seat making sure to calm the horses under his hand. The forest grew quiet as quickly as it had been disturbed and a cold silence returned. '' ''Esra sighed, collected his thoughts and spoke the words “Nē warrev zeitmam, never forsake honour, those were the last words I ever heard come from the lips of the father I chose, Throfer Oakheart.” “Ah so you can speak some Dwarvish, perhaps I underestimated ye,” the Dwarf still gave off the signs of someone put off by the man’s earlier outburst yet continued perhaps pleased by the advent of conversation. “The Oakhearts, a fine clan they were, but I never heard of no survivors, let alone one by the name Throfer Oakheart,” said the Dwarven cartmaster. Esra reached into his pocket and pulled out a small amulet bearing the Dwarven rune for clan Oakheart, “He kept to himself”. Esra held the pendant out in his hand, the Dwarf eyed it curiously. “Mithril, this sure was them alright, you don’t see these often. Not since the war started.” Esra thought he detected a flicker of annoyance on his companion’s face, however he decided not to press the issue and placed the sigil back into his pocket. '' ''As the trail droned on, Esra peered into the dense pine woodland on his left, to many this would be an unnerving affair. It is the kind of place local inns spoke of in hushed tones, where dark creatures and nightmarish abominations prowled the unkept wilds, terrifying even the most grown up of men. However, to Esra it represented a place of beauty, wild discovery and above all, home. He felt his mind wandering, it was if he could see himself and the figure of the burly dwarf Throfer hunting, almost as if it was a dance between the pines, chasing the sun across the sky until it passed over into the mountains heralding the end of the day’s activities. The images gradually felt more and more tangible as Esra found himself going back and back into his mind his first memories with his wayward father.